


Love-in-a-mist

by rosasynstylae



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosasynstylae/pseuds/rosasynstylae
Summary: Charles Xavier just wants to live a quiet life with his books and his research - but it's the loneliness that gets to him.





	Love-in-a-mist

Raven skipped through the bookstore’s door, her blonde hair and white skin cascading away to reveal her true shape. A ring from the bell above the door announced her arrival, unnecessarily. “Scott! Alex says to come home.” She called as she breezed through the shop. Raven didn’t feel the need to look around the small space for the teenager; he and his friends where always hiding in some corner. The tall portion of counter in the back groaned when she leaned on it, dropping her bag.

“Don’t yell in the shop, Raven.” Charles didn’t even look up from the paper he was scribbling on. Open books were scattered around him, stacked on one another when he had finished referencing them. Something had gotten Charles into a writing mood; that didn’t happen too often, lately. Raven turned one of the books over in her hands.

“Mutant and Proud: The Mutant Rights Movement from the 1960’s to Today.” She read aloud, already reaching for a paper that had been annotated, “Powerful Psy Mutants: a statistical look at Telepaths and Empaths among different societal classes- wait, _you_ wrote this one! I remember you lecturing me about this for _months_. 

“I don’t exactly have every single statistic I’ve ever gathered memorized and at hand,” Charles looked up from his paper at the ceiling, waving the pencil between two of his fingers. His chair creaked a little against its breaks when he leaned back. She noted that they should give them a once over sometime this week. “Raven, what’s a good word for ‘a feeling of separation even within one’s community’? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“Ostracisation?”

“Hm. No, that’s not it.” Charles paused for a moment. “I don’t think that’s even technically a word.”

“You could just google it?”

Charles just hummed in response, still staring at the ceiling. Raven sighed and dropped the paper onto one of the stacks. He was impossible when he got like this; hours of Raven’s time had been wasted trying to talk to him when he had an idea. She leaned over the counter - causing it to groan again - and plucked a key from a hook behind Charles. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t forget to come up for dinner.” She didn’t wait for a response, whisking through a back door.

 

* * *

 

Isolation. That was the word Charles was looking for. He leaned back over the paper when he felt a nudge at the edge of his consciousness.

Charles kept a passive blanket of awareness over his bookshop. If you were safe - not there to cause trouble - you would skim under it, like a fish under the water. If you were coming in with the intent to hurt anyone or anything, Charles would be able to tell immediately. Anger caused ripples. It was necessary to keep the bookshop a safe place for his clientele - mostly mutant teenagers, gangly and unsure of themselves, university students looking for a rare academic paper that the university library didn’t carry, or the relatives of newly-minted mutants. His shop provided a place for those new to the community; something Charles found sorely lacking on the east side.

This nudge was not anger, but barriers against his telepathy. Charles sat up, watching the stranger. He had the ability to hold passive mental barriers. It was a rare ability in anyone; mutant or otherwise. Charles had only seen it in a handful of people who weren’t telepaths.

The pencil stilled between Charles’ fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what to do in this situation. The man stopped in front of the desk; he looked to be in his thirties, and exhausted.

“Do you happen to have any books on raising mutant children? One of my friends just found out that her daughter is one.”

“Oh, of course! Just a minute.” Charles started moving his books over, revealing a hinged portion of the counter. “Do you know what her powerset is? I can give a more accurate suggestion if so; if not, there’s some general books with advice that carry across. Is your friend a mutant as well?” He started cataloging the potential options that he had in stock. ‘Parenting the Mutant Teen’ was a pretty good starter, and rather generic. It had separate sections on physical, meta-physical, and psychic powers, and was grounded in some well-established research.

“She found out from a genetics test; we don’t know yet. Nadia’s only three.” The man smiled, lips ticking up a little bit. The exhausted look cleared when he smiled - Charles wondered if it was the subject. “Her mother’s not a mutant. Which is why she came to me for advice. Like I know the first thing about children.” An inside joke Charles didn’t get, judging by the tone. “She should really ask my mother.”

“Raising mutant children isn’t really all that different from raising non-mutant children, at the end of the day. Teach them about bodily autonomy and responsibility and most of the pieces fall into place. The hard part is teaching them about how to navigate discrimination.” Charles mused as he considered the book options. He scratched ‘Parenting the Mutant Teen’ from his list as he swung the counter top open and wheeled through it. Maybe ‘So Your Child is a Mutant’? He ran over his stock of parenting books in his head. None of them would work; they were all for older children. He’d have to remember to order some about toddlers and babies. It was so rare for mutations to manifest at that age - but now that genetic tests were in vogue, he should probably keep a stock.

“You look a little young to have kids.” He was examining Charles closely, like trying to puzzle out a mystery. Charles held down a blush. He was unused to the scrutiny. Most of the time when people stared, he redirected their attention; he couldn’t do that with this man.

“Oh, I raised my younger sister for the most part. Our parents were… indisposed most of the time- This is probably the closest thing I have in store that will be any help.” Charles pulled ‘Parenting for the Powerless: How to Raise a Mutant Child’ off of the stack. “It’s aimed a little older than your friend’s child - more around the eight to eleven age range? But it has some good advice that should translate. I could also order a few books in; I’d suggest ‘Tantrums and Teleportation’, it’s perfect for the age range. I can offer a wholesale price on that. It generally takes about four days for ordered books to come in.”

The man took the offered book, flipping through it absently. “Hm. Okay.” He snapped the book shut. “I’ll take both of them.”

He followed Charles back to the counter. Charles shifted the books around the counter, looking for the list that he used to keep track of special orders. The man watched, looking amused at the clutter.

“Do you always work like this?”

Charles could feel his embarrassment glowing in his face. “Only when I’m doing research.” He proffered the list and a pen. “Could you fill out a line on here? I’ll need your phone number to ring when it gets in.”

The man took the list, laying it on the counter to write, but the pen floated out of Charles’ hand. It started filling in the columns. “Couldn’t you get this digitized?” He asked absently. The pen scratched against the paper, a loud sound. Charles refused to stare; it would be rude.

“I suppose, but I’m rather fond of paper.” And so few people ordered books from him. Why would they, when they could just order it on Amazon? Charles didn’t mind this; the bookstore wasn’t how he made his money anyway. Compound interest was his real income.

The pen fell onto the desk, and the man handed him the list. “Whatever works, I suppose. You said you’d call when the book was in?”

“Yes. Should be no more than five days.”

Charles waited until the man was no longer visible through the windows to look down at the list. Erik Lehnsherr.

 

* * *

 

Charles woke to an empty apartment. He stretched and pulled himself out of the bed and into his chair. The empty space where Raven’s mind normally hummed told him that she had gone out. The note on the kitchen counter confirmed it. How she managed to go to bed so late and get up so early boggled Charles’ mind. Maybe he was getting old.

The coffee machine sputtered to life, and Charles frowned. He had been meaning to get a new one for a while; perhaps that’s what he could do today. He had been spending most of his free time working on his latest paper - a break would be nice.

He felt tired. But he always felt tired. When was the last time he had felt properly rested? When he was in high school? Eight years of university had stripped him of the ability to sleep at night. He should write a strongly worded letter. Was his doctorate really worth his mental health?

Charles knew that wasn’t the real reason. But thinking about his nightmares made him think of all the times Raven nagged him to go see a therapist. He didn’t need a therapist. Besides, he hadn’t managed to meet one yet who could hide their thoughts; Charles could pick up on them even accidentally.

Maybe it was a ‘House Hunters and delivery sushi’ day, rather than a ‘Fight New York City crowds for a coffee maker’ day. He could watch House Hunters in his boxers. Since it was a Monday, Moria would be at work and Hank would be in the lab. With Raven out of the house, Charles should have the whole day to himself. That tended to be dangerous.

Isolation was dangerous.

Charles took his cup of weak coffee from the coffee maker, frowning as he took a sip. He wondered if he should make more friends. He had come out of his schooling with only two of his friends left. And with Moira busy with her new business and Hank trying to finish his doctorate, he spent most of his days cooped up in his house. When was the last time he had gone out to brunch? The last time he had just wandered through the city? Two, Three years?

He didn’t need a therapist to get that staying in his home all day was probably not healthy. Charles sighed and chugged his coffee. He could go get a new coffee maker and wander around. It was a pleasant spring day, with a gentle breeze floating through the window. There wasn’t any reason not to go out.

An hour later, Charles found himself in front of a tiny store. The sign over it stated that it was ‘Half Baked’. In a bid to get out of the house, Charles had picked a kitchen supply store based on best pun. It made for a short list overall - there needed to be more stores with pun names.

Charles had been imagining two different, entirely unrealistic scenarios on his way over. He had built up either a bustling store with a loud personality ushering people through lines and getting them help finding what they were looking for, or a quiet store with beams of light pouring over the goods and a twenty one year old laboring over a batch of cupcakes, a pile of bills next to them. He was surprised to find something very similar to the second daydream. Quiet, warm, and smelling of baked goods, the store was divided into two sections. Up next to the counter was a small bakery. The rest of the store was made up of four aisles of kitchen utensils. The rows were a bit tighter than Charles preferred, probably due to the fact that it was in an older building, but he found that he could get around fine.

A man came out of the back when he approached the counter, serious and quiet. Charles could sense his stress, but overall he seemed content. He rang Charles up, and held the door for him when he left.

Now where to go? He could try to find a coffee shop, maybe get some work on his article out of the way - but all of his reference materials were at home. He could pick up some lunch, but he wasn’t quite hungry yet.

A breeze ruffled his hair and Charles relaxed a little. Maybe a stroll would be nice. It had been a while.

As Charles roamed the streets, window shopping and people watching, he found himself nostalgic for college. Grabbing brunch at a shitty diner after a night of drinking, camaraderie in his friends’ hangovers. He missed it. 

He was lonely.

It wasn’t the first time he had thought it. The feeling niggled at him, always under the surface. It wasn’t as if his friends couldn’t tell. It wasn’t as if Raven couldn’t tell. And Charles wasn’t quite self-delusional enough to deny it. He wanted more friends, more people he felt he could share his life with. 

Charles sighed, starting to point himself towards home. Maybe it was a ‘House Hunters and delivery sushi’ day after all.


End file.
